


As It Should Be

by HumanError



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Blood, Brotherly Love, Car Accidents, Caring Mycroft, Depression, Graphics Depictions of Injury, Hospitals, Injured Sherlock, M/M, Major Character Injury, POV Sherlock Holmes, Poor John, Poor Sherlock, Sherlock Whump, Suicidal Thoughts, Surgery, Wheelchairs, car crash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-08
Updated: 2015-03-08
Packaged: 2018-03-16 22:09:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3504533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HumanError/pseuds/HumanError
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before I even register the excruciating pain in my lower back, I am looking towards him, trying to see if he is okay. And it doesn't even take me a second before I realise that he is not.</p><p>John is a man who never lets on to when he is experiencing pain but I can tell immediately that he is in agony. His eyes are scrunched together, an attempt to block out absolutely everything that has happened in the past twenty seconds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	As It Should Be

Before I even register the excruciating pain in my lower back, I am looking towards him, trying to see if he is okay. And it doesn't even take me a second before I realise that he is not.

John is a man who never lets on to when he is experiencing pain but I can tell immediately that he is in agony. His eyes are scrunched together, an attempt to block out absolutely everything that has happened in the past twenty seconds.

I attempt to cock my head to the side so I am closer to him but I can't. A feeling similar to being stabbed attacks my body and I can't move because it just hurts so much. A whimper escapes my lips.

"John," I manage, my voice raspy as I cough up blood. The smell of burning rubber and melting metal invades my nostrils and I have the urge to throw up. Another cough escapes my throat and more blood falls into my lap.

John doesn't move.

"John." I say again, desperately. And then, "please." Finally he opens his eyes, just slightly, but the terror that is present in them is frightening. I've never seen him look so afraid in his entire life and it panics me.

I am able to glance downwards, just slightly, but when I do I wish I hadn't. His legs are twisted at angles and through the blood that is coating his trousers I am able to see bone jutting out of the flesh of his right leg. My eyes dart upwards, landing on his torso.

"Fuck no, John. No." I stutter as tears sting my eyes. This, it's too awful for me to comprehend. It can't be happening. Why is this happening?

Eventually John is able to look at me, but it is not without effort. It's as if he's oblivious of the compacted metal that has ripped through his spinal cord, into his stomach and out through his skin. In fact, he probably isn't aware.

An alarm is ringing out from another car (it could be this car but I am unsure), a constant whir, reminding me that this situation is in fact terrifyingly real and this isn't just an horrendous nightmare. The metallic taste of blood is present in my mouth, and it's disgusting, but I can't put any thought into that because John is probably going to die and I cannot move to help him.

John's mouth moves slightly but he is unable to get any words out. I can see the panic that flits across them when he cannot speak, cannot tell me what he needs to say.

His skin is turning a sickly shade of white- too white, and his breaths are coming out in a laboured rhythm. He doesn't stop looking at me.

"John," I say again but I am getting tired, needing to fall asleep. Keeping my eyes open is proving to be extremely difficult but I am determined to stay awake.

Suddenly I can hear screams and there are people outside of the car, trying their hardest to rip the doors open. John has slumped forward, his chest resting on    of the metal that has pierced through his body. I am in complete and utter agony; my legs won't move, my back feels like it is being crushed and my head is spinning uncontrollably.

I don't realise how long we've been in the car but soon I don't know where John is. A paramedic is standing above me, placing an oxygen mask over my mouth and nose. I am somehow being manoeuvred onto what I can only assume is a spinal board, my neck being supported with a brace.

The person above me is speaking but I am unsure about what she is saying. I try to tell her to help John, get him out of the car and just save him, but again I am unable to find my words.

I don't remember anything after that.

                                                                     

* * *

 

Lestrade is the first person I see when I wake up. He looks absolutely drained-as if he hasn't seen sleep in a lifetime. "You've been out for a couple of weeks." He says groggily. "They didn't know whether you'd make it or not."

"John?" I manage to mumble out, my speech slurred. I dread the answer.

My worst nightmare comes true when Lestrade shakes his head. I feel like I want to curl up into a ball and die, rid myself of the world and get back with him. I want to thrash about, scream at the top of my lungs. I can't.

Instead I stare up at the ceiling, my eyes prickling with tears.

When Lestrade tells me the extent of my injuries, I cannot be bothered to care. When he tells me that I received severe head injuries and that I needed life saving surgery, I don't react. When he tells me that my spinal cord was severed in the accident and that I shattered several vertebrae, I don't reply.

When he tells me that I am now a paraplegic, that I will never walk again, I am emotionless.

I am nothing without John. I need him and he's gone and I am alive. It isn't supposed to end up like this, yet, it has.

                                                                    

* * *

 

I don't make it to his funeral. I'm too weak still and the doctors advise me not to go. I need to focus on my recovery, apparently. I don't think I can recover, not fully. Definitely not emotionally. And even if I wanted to disobey the doctors orders, it's not like I could have made it out of the hospital by myself.    

I receive lots of cards on the day he is put to rest. From his friends, his colleagues. His fans. The people who read his blog about us. About our cases. About our memories.

I don't read them.

                                                                   

* * *

 

The recovery process is agonising, painful. Months of rehabilitation, therapy, examinations. I can't even use the toilet by myself. I feel absolutely pathetic.

Because if he was here, this would have been better. I would have the determination to get through it because I would have had something to live for. Now everything seems dull and there doesn't seem to be any hope of anything getting better at all. I want John and I can't have him and it hurts so fucking much.

My head hurts a lot. It's always aching, a constant throbbing that never seems to go away. I am told that it is due to my head trauma, that it will take time. I haven't got the patience to wait.

                                                                   

* * *

 

One day I have to undergo an emergency operation. They hadn't detected the bleeding on my brain. Mycroft sues the hospital and has multiple doctors and nurses fired.  

He comes almost everyday. Even the British government has time to spare for his baby brother. I think if it wasn't for him, I would have topped myself by now. Every time I think about ending it all, I am reminded of my idiocy by Mycroft. I would never die an idiot. So I stay.

The first time I am allowed out in the wheelchair, I am afraid. Getting in that wheelchair will make everything seem more real and I don't want that. I don't want to acknowledge that I'll never walk again because the prospect absolutely bloody terrifies me.

I am reluctant to do so but eventually Mycroft persuades me to. I am shaking as Mycroft and my nurse, Aileen (the one who's not incompetent) help me travel from the bed and into the chair. It feels odd, not laying down. Having the ability to move somewhere of my own accord.

Aileen asks whether I would like her or Mycroft to take me outside and I don't have to think twice before answering. My brother grips the chair and pushes me outside to the courtyard where we sit, enjoying the fresh air. It is Mycroft who talks first.

"I am truly sorry for what happened to John." He says. At first I think he's being sarcastic because he never shows any emotions, but when I look up, I realise he is being sincere.  "No one should have to suffer what you've gone through, brother mine."

It is the first time anyone has mentioned John's name since the funeral.

"We were engaged." I say to him, avoiding eye contact. "Three days before the accident, I proposed to him. He said yes."

I don't need to look at Mycroft to know that he is surprised by this information. We hadn't told anyone about our engagement. Most didn't know we were in a relationship together, in fact. We had intended on telling him, of course, but not so soon. We wanted our time together, just the two of us.

"We were going to get married. I never got to chance to become his husband." I clench my jaw as I wait for him to reply. When he doesn't respond, I continue. "I can't remember much about that day. No one's told me how he died."

It's something I have been thinking about for a long time, ever since Lestrade told me the news. All he said was that he didn't make it. I didn't mention anything again-not until now.

Mycroft sighs and turns to face me. I can tell that he is reluctant to tell me. I know that he will not sugarcoat it.

"When the paramedics arrived John was still breathing, albeit with extreme difficulty." I nod. "Brother, are you sure you want me to-"

"Yes." I do not hesitate to respond.

"The car behind slammed into your car at around 55mph. Both cars were damaged beyond repair. Both the driver and the passenger of the other car died on impact. A sheet of metal from the bonnet of the other car penetrated through John's back which severed John's spine, caused major damage to internal organs and came through his torso."

I press my eyes together and shake my head, unwilling to accept that. How had he not died on impact?

"On the way to the hospital John was successfully resuscitated once but the blood loss and internal damage was too much and he passed away during the surgery. The doctors told me that if he survived, he wouldn't have had a good quality of life. He wouldn't have been able to do anything for himself."

The news is overwhelming and my bottom lip begins to tremble. Mycroft places his hand on top of mine, just as he used to do when we were younger. Finally I cry: it is the first time I have allowed myself any tears since he died, and when I start, I cannot stop. Mycroft holds me as I sob into his chest uncontrollably.

He doesn't say a word.

                                                                

* * *

 

I am released three weeks later. Mycroft and Lestrade are with me when I leave, both silent as we make our way out of the hospital. There is a car waiting for us and suddenly I am panicking and even the thought of getting into another one is scaring me. My breaths are coming out in short, sharp bursts and I am hyperventilating.

Immediately Lestrade is kneeling in front of me, both hands resting on each wheel of my chair. He's trying to control my breathing, mimicking a regular breathing pattern to try and control me. Mycroft is speaking to the driver.

"There we go." Lestrade says once I finally calm down. I ball my hand into a fist, frustrated at my own weakness. The chances of us having an incident on the way back to Baker Street is slim. I shouldn't be working myself up so much.

There is a small amount of awkwardness transferring me from the wheelchair and into the car but eventually we succeed and I am seated.

"Ready?" Lestrade asks, and I nod. I need to face the world again, go back home, adjust to my new life. But there is one thing I must do first and I intend to do it now.

                                                           

* * *

 

We arrive at the cemetery where John is buried, not too far away from Baker Street. Mycroft helps me back into my wheelchair and guides me to where my fiancé is laid to rest.

I need to say goodbye to him and finally I am able to do so. Just the two of us again, as it should be.

            


End file.
